


I'm Not Laughing

by ValeskaDoll



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Beating, Beginnings, Blood, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fear, Freedom, Gen, Hurt, Innocent Jerome, Men Crying, Murder, Stress Relief, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6362317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeskaDoll/pseuds/ValeskaDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before he is sent to Arkham. Jerome is slowly losing control of his anger. After killing his mother's partner, he discovers he likes the feeling. This is the beginning of his life of crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Laughing

The ginger looked at his messy trailer. He should tidy it. The last thing he needed was to give his mother another reason to scold him. He had been so busy working at the circus all day. He had completely forgotten about the state he had left his trailer in. It was from last night. The usual frustrations that came from working in a circus were bad enough, but to have to deal with an abusive whore of a mother as well... It had all gotten to him last night and he had let rip the only way he knew how, to throw his weight around. To others, he would seem like the innocent, maybe even timid, young man. But there was a burning inside of Jerome Valeska. An anger he was slowly losing control of.

It was only a matter of time.

He picked up the clothes strewn across the floor. He would have to wash them, they were covered in his muddy footprints. He threw them into a bag and tried to decide what to do next. He looked to the walls. There were a few pictures he had pinned up there, some had fallen on the floor, others ripped up. After finding some sellotape, he began to work on pitting the ripped ones back together, then pinning them back up.

He took a step back to admire them. Wait, one was missing. He looked around on the floor to see a torn photograph next to the smashed mirror, he would have to clean that up as well. He picked up the photograph carefully and tried to avoid the broken glass. He turned it over, it was a picture of his younger self with his mum. Back when she was somewhat tolerable, although he was beginning to doubt there was such a time. He scoffed and threw it over his shoulder. It could stay on the floor. He grabbed a bag and began picking up the pieces of broken glass. Out of everything that happened last night, breaking the mirror was the most vivid in his mind.

He remembered standing there, looking into the mirror. Hot tears streaming down his reddened face. Whether it was red from anger, or devastation, he still didn't know. He tried to calm himself and stop crying. The more he tried, the more he failed. He looked upon his reflection. A pathetic reflection, he thought. He was ashamed of what he had become. He was his mother's punching bag and a circus boy, nothing more. He always wanted to be more. The circus was his family, yes. You must learn to walk before you run, right? The tormenting thoughts wrapped around his mind, the tears came faster, his heart raced.

He finally lost it.

He threw his clenched fist into the mirror, shattering it with ease. He paused for a second, then pulled back his hand. He looked down at his hand. It was covered in blood. He felt a rush. What a rush! It was the first time he had let out his anger, he liked it. He looked back at his reflection, now scattered in the pieces of the broken mirror. The tears came again.

Jerome's attention was back on the glass he was picking up, he felt a sharp pain. He glanced down and saw fresh blood seeping from his finger. He pulled the shard of glass from it and threw it to the floor. "To hell with this!" he grunted. He shuffled to his bed. As he lay down, he sighed. It was still early for him, but he was so tired. It wasn't long until he heard the familiar sounds coming from the next trailer across. His mum was at it again. Fucking that snake guy.

He ripped his pillow from under his head and turned onto his side. He shoved the pillow onto his ear in hopes of silencing the sounds, or muffling them at least.

It didn't help.

It wasn't the sounds that bothered him. It was what would be coming next. It was a dance Jerome knew all too well. His mother, and that bastard would be half cut by now. After their first round of noisy sex, they would be stumbling over to his trailer. He tried to block out what would be coming next.

Not tonight. He couldn't take it tonight.

He threw his pillow onto the floor and sat up. He shoved his shoes on, followed by a jacket. A walk would be nice. Hopefully he could stay out long enough so they would get bored of waiting for him and give up. Just one night off.

Please.

 

The nights came quickly in the winter here. Jerome had visited many placed as he traveled with Haly's Circus. But Gotham was becoming his favorite. Many times he had wandered the streets at night on his way to his usual spot, next to the riverside. He sat on a bench, hunched into his coat for warmth. He would rather freeze to death tonight, than go back there anytime soon. He had fantasized about running away many times. But the circus was his family. It's all he has even known. If he left, he would be leaving with nothing. The only things he had to his name, were a few clothes and trinkets. The rest belonged to the circus, even his costumes. Besides, if he was to leave, where would he go? Become a street bum? It would be a better life than the one he had. Wouldn't it? He would be homeless, cold, hungry and ignored by most. But he would be free. For the first time in what felt like forever, he would be free. He wouldn't wake up every morning with the first thought in his head being 'I wonder what tonight's beatings will consist of?' Usually, it was plain fists. But now and again, his mother and whoever she was fucking at the time, liked to get a little...experimental. Belts, bats, ropes, a broken bottle, whatever caught their fancy. He found he was relieved when they decided to try new ways of beating him. It was a different pain from the usual fist he absorbed. At first, it really used to knock him. But after a while, he became tolerant of it. When beaten or abused, some people go numb. Some go to their happy place, and some just hope it would be over soon. Jerome found he was a mixture of these people. Maybe this is why he preferred it when they tried new things. It was something different to concentrate on. A different kind of pain.

He sighed with a shiver. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what little money he had. He counted the coins and shoved them back into his pocket. There wasn't even enough there for a hot drink. Would he even be able to get one this time of night? They had only recently arrived in Gotham. He wasn't sure what shops were where, or if they were open this time of night. What was the time? He glanced at his watch and saw it to be just after midnight. He should be getting back, hopefully they have gone to sleep by now. He wouldn't bet on it.

 

 

The familiar sight of his trailer was in view. He shuffled along, hands deep in his pockets, mindlessly kicking a stone along the grass.

"Oi!"

A voice drew him from his daydreaming. He was shoved against the trailer next to him with some force. He shook his head and looked up to see who it was. He wasn't surprised to see it was his mother's latest fuck buddy.

"Where the hell you been boy?" the man slurred. "Your mother and I've been looking for ya." he smirked.

Jerome turned his face away. He stunk of booze, it was making his head fussy.

He grabbed Jerome's face and turned it back to him. "Your mother never teach ya any manners boy? Ya look at someone when they're talking to ya!"

Jerome tried to hold back the tears. He realized he had failed when he felt onto his cheek.

"Oh ya wanna cry boy?" he chuckled and moved his face closer to Jerome's. "I'll give ya summin' to cry about!"

Jerome felt a sharp pain in his stomach as a fist hit it. He buckled over, grabbing his stomach. He felt a sharp pain in his head and fell to the floor. He landed on his side. He lifted a hand up to his head and rubbed it a little. He felt something wet, he was bleeding. He blinked the tears away to clear his sight.

The man was standing over him.

A kick was aimed at his stomach, causing Jerome to curl up tighter into a ball. He was pulled up by his jacket and thrown across the floor. This time, he landed on his back.

"Your mother may be asleep. But I got a bit of energy left." he said as he approached Jerome.

He closed his eyes and tensed his body, in preparation for what was to come. He rolled over in an attempt to shield most of his body from the brute force of the man's hits. His hand hit something. He opened his eyes to see a good sized rock in the grass. He didn't know what came over him, he grasped the rock in his hand. As the man bent over him, he swung. He hit the man straight across the left of his face.

The man stumbled back, then looked at Jerome in surprise.

Jerome didn't give him a chance to react. He was already on his feet. He ran to the man, rock in hand, and swung again. He hit the man's temple.

The man stumbled back and caught his foot, causing him to fall onto his back.

Jerome took the opportunity and jumped onto his chest. He held the rock with both hands, the sharp edge facing downwards. He forced it down into the man's face.

Thud!

Al the pain, all the anger, everything he had locked away into the depths of his mind came forward. It was as if his life was flashing before his eyes.

Thud!

In those few seconds of forcing the rock down time and time again, every one of the beatings flashed through his mind. He remembered the first time it happened, and the next, and the next. He remembered every incident with such graphic detail. He was reliving them all at once.

Thud!

Every part of his body ached as he recalled where he had been hit and with what. He remembered the words that were spoken by his mother. They were rarely nice. He remembered the pain he felt, the tears, the sleepless nights, the bad thoughts.

Thud!

He remembered everything.

Tears streamed from his eyes. He could no longer see what he was hitting, but he could feel it. My god, could he feel it.

Crack!

He brought the rock down, each time harder. He grunted as everything flowed through his mind.

Thud!

His arms ached. He couldn't lift the rock anymore. He dropped it and breathed heavily. He cried a little longer, then wiped the tears from his face. He sighed, he felt exhilarated. He felt alive. As he wiped his face, he felt something wet. He looked down at his red hands, then down at the man.

He was no longer recognizable as the man he once was. He was no longer recognizable as a human.

Jerome looked around. He didn't see anyone. This was surprising, considering the amount of noise that was made. He thought someone would have come out to see what was going on. His mind turned back to the man's corpse. He couldn't just leave him here. He stood up, he was still shaking from the adrenaline. He scanned his surroundings for somewhere to hide his body. His eyes fell on the trash pile, it would be taken away later on in the day. The trash pile, he thought, how fitting.

He wrapped his arms underneath the man's shoulders and began to drag him. He was heavier than he looked, plus his arms were already tired. It felt like hours before he was close enough to shove his body in the pile. He tried the best he could to cover it up. He took a moment to admire his work. He remembered the rock. He swiftly walked back and searched around for it in the dark. He found it and returned to the pile. He looked down at it before he threw it onto the pile. He looked at his watch, he could faintly see it from the moonlight. 1AM. He would have to be up in four hours. He should get cleaned up.

 

 

Jerome threw his clothes to the floor after he switched the shower on. He stepped into it. The warm water was a shock to his cold skin. He scrubbed the blood from his skin and hair with shaking hands as quick as he could. He couldn't afford to get caught. No one must ever know what he as done.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He looked into the mirror and noticed he had missed a bit of blood. He ran the taps and began to wash his face even more. He didn't know what he was feeling. Panic? Worry? Scared? Relief?

No.

He looked up into the mirror to see his reflection. He smiled.

He felt free.

After cleaning up, he wandered back into his bedroom. He could at least try to get a few hours sleep. He saw his pillow on the floor and picked it up. Something fluttered to the ground. He looked down, it was the torn picture of him and his mother. He brought the pillow and the photograph to the bed and lay down. He looked at the photograph and a smile slowly spread across his face again.

He had made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he was going to kill his mother.


End file.
